Wednesday, September 12, 2012

I'll Never Be Mistaken for Sporty Spice.

I've been having an amazingly busy, awesome, frightening summer.  I mentioned in my previous post that I don't do well with strangers.  And so, in a totally logical move, I joined the Beehive Sport and Social Club and played Volleyball with the team Vicious and Delicious.  Or, VD for short.  Cause, you know, saying the entire name is far too taxing.  We had a rough start and soon found ourselves in last place.  But with our rallying cry of "We don't completely suck!  We don't completely suck!" we soon moved our way up the ranks and managed to scrape by with a last minute win to qualify for the semi-finals.

Which we immediately lost.  Shocking.  With moves like these...

It's all about intimidation.  And that girl on the other side of the net.  She was intimidated.

Erin sacrificing the body.  And succeeding!

We're the amazing team on the left.  Falling all over the ground.  While being awesome.  Obvs.

If anything, she's graceful.  Just look at that form.  Perfection!

Yup.  Me cowering.  The normal response when one has balls flying at their face.

Erin massaging my cheeks after I just got face-spiked.  Which was not awesome.


We ended up losing by 2 points to the team who won the championship.  We put up a damn good fight and we're banding together with a couple of new players to take on the fall season league. 

In other not-so-close-to-winning news, I've also joined a coed softball team.  Candito's husband plays on a team that was in desperate need of an extra female player.  And when I say desperate need, I'm not exaggerating in the least.  They won the whole thing last year.  I haven't swung a bat since little league.  I'm not kidding when I say they were desperate.

I agreed and showed up.  I was sent to right field.  I hung out.  It was boring.  It was perfect for me.

The next week, Erik made pizza before I was supposed to head out for the game.  I packed a couple of slices to take with me.  I figured I'd have time to eat them while standing around in right field, watching the game as a spectator. 

Tragically, upon arrival, I was informed I would be the catcher.  I laughed in Mike's face.  He convinced me he was not joking.  Mother hugging effing shit.

Okay.  Cool.  No biggie.  (Except it was)

This isn't just a friendly softball game.  No.  These people play to win.  What's THAT about?
The week before, one of the guys tore his calf muscle.  So he wasn't playing this week.  He was probably last week's catcher.  

We're up to bat.  Keith is up and I'm on deck.  He hits it and takes off towards first base.  I look over just in time to see him collide with first base and do this weird front shoulder roll which looked oddly graceful at the time.  He pops up and he's safe.  I'm up.  Hearts thumping when Mike calls for a time-out and Keith saunters up stating non-nonchalantly, "I think I broke my collarbone".
He pulls his jersey to the side and BAM!

Kay, I actually have no idea who this man is, but poor Keith's shoulder looked something like this.
 Like a mother hugging alien invasion had taken up residence under his skin in the form of a pop-up tent.  It was not okay.

Keith went to the hospital.  

Soon enough it was the other team's turn to bat and I slowly took my place behind home plate.  The umpire was 800 years old and I could feel his hot breath on my neck.

Candice was standing on the other side of the fence providing moral support.  She asked if I was okay.  She said, "Dawn, you alright?  You look scared.".

My response, "I AM scared.  I'm wearing pink nail polish.  I don't belong here!"  She laughed.  I think she thought I was kidding.

I wasn't. 

We lost that game 11-23.